Driving
by GreekHeroine
Summary: A typical patrol leads Robin to discover a secret within Gotham, illegal but harmless will Robin question what is truly wrong? A fun adventure set during season 1. Possibly team members later on, defiantly OCs and a badass classic car. WARNING! Don't like classics cars then don't read!
1. Author's Note

Alright alright, here's the Author's note!

I am a car enthusiast! I love classic cars with an insane obsession that borders on crazy! Ha! Anyway that's your warning because I'll be referencing a lot of classic cars and car jargon here in this story. If you don't like it don't read it. If you want look it up on Google. Everything here is true and facts. (That is about cars anyway!)

I have a few OCs, The Team will be mentioned but not really seen, may change it later I don't know. Robin is doing this on his own and he sees a different side of Gotham that isn't exactly normal to him.

Lots of laughs, NOT SERIOUS AT ALL! Just a fun mission for our bird! Hope you like it! Review please! As the racers say:

Light the Fires, Kick the Tires!


	2. Chapter 1

The streets were silent.

The lights dimmed.

People, nonexistent.

Robin looked up from his usual perch on the Gotham West Side Orphanage. The breeze was cool and soft. He smiled.

Batman and him had just finished taking down Penguin for being the middle man in dealing arms from an unknown source. After leaving the Penguin and his cronies under the bridge for Commissioner Gordon to find, Robin had asked to patrol the West Side. Batman had agreed as he left to patrol downtown.

Robin was excited. He had been with the covert team for a few months now and had enjoyed his time shining as his own hero. Underneath his excitement however he still missed being Batman's partner and still missed Gotham. In all of its dreary, dark and slimy underworld garbage, it was still his home.

Suddenly he cocked his head to the side. Laughter erupted as engines sounded. Robin grinned, sensing excitement.

He shot out his grapple gun, ignoring the pain on his left side. It was bruises from Penguin's attack earlier, he shrugged it off. He had worse and from the sounds of it, his left side wouldn't be the only pain he felt that night. He swung across a few rooftops, tracing the growing roar of car engines. After he ran and leaped across another roof, he tucked and rolled out overlooking a party.

Down below were candy colored cars. Not ordinary cars however. These were sleek, large behemoths. They were littered in silver chrome and intricate designs. They were not the newest Lambos or Ferarris, not even Corvettes!

They were classics!

Robin recognized the gleaming Mustangs, the luxurious Impalas and ancient Model Ts. Whoever was in charge here had some pretty good planning.

They had blocked off almost five straight blocks with a roundabout at each end. Almost a hundred or so people milled around the block and what people they were! No matter how hard Robin looked through the crowd, no one stood out as a criminal or villain. Sure a few people carried guns scattered throughout the crowd, but they weren't hardened criminals. Robin saw they were simply people hanging out. There were older gentlemen, older than Batman all the way to kids younger than him! The whole scene was bizarre and Robin had faced off against some crazy people in the past.

The people clapped each other on the back, cheered and laughed. They had a light in their eyes that Robin had never seen after dusk in Gotham. Some people danced as a few cars turned up their radios. He realized the music wasn't a form of techno or hip hop, certainly not rap or anything like it. It was rock! Classic rock poured from the speakers. The people sang and danced as others handed out food. It seemed that people had set up portable grills and cooked. Again, Robin looked and saw no drugs or anything nefarious. Sure alcohol was present, but he saw only the older adults had them as well as the cigarettes. Again however there wasn't pot or a drug, simply nicotine. It baffled Robin as he took in the rest of the scene.

Cars had lined up and flipped on their high beams, bathing the normally dim street in light. Work lights were thrown casually on the street to provide more lighting and Robin noticed generators set up. He marveled at the amount of effort it had taken. He saw not one broken in store or sort of vandalism. These people and their cars were simply hanging out.

Robin watched as some teens around Kid Flash's age slipped into these high end and beautifully restored classics and brought them to life. Robin felt his stomach drop and his heart race. It wasn't in fear, it was excitement! As the guys pressed the gas, Robin felt himself lean forward. When girls gripped the wheel, pursing their lips, Robin felt his eyes widen.

Just as he was about to leave, surely they were doing no harm, she came in.

A teenager on the cusp of an adult drove in from the roundabout on the North end. She drove a car that Robin had only seen a few times.

A 1972 Chevy Chevelle SS. A beast of American muscle. It had a large grill that held an SS emblem in the center. A round headlight graced each side, shining beautiful amber light on the street. Orange and black paint slicked over the hard steel body. Twin black stripes began from the hood and stretched over the top and down the sloping trunk of the car where circular red lights flashed as she braked. The sides of the car were flawless. A chrome bar stretched across the bottom and more chrome framed the windows, lights, trunk and grill. A small cursive emblem was bolted to the back end by the marker lights that spelt out Chevelle. It was an impressive machine. Upon closer looks, Robin saw the classic had a hood scoop, part of the hood raised to allow air inside the engine and the windows rolled down to reveal black vinyl interior. The car shook and growled, raised slightly above the ground with large black tires that slightly rose even more in the back. The noise was tremendous along the other engines, almost drowning them out. It was beast of an animal, snarling as the woman rolled it to a stop in front of some other cars. She shifted the beast into neutral and stepped out amid whistles and cheers from the crowd.

Robin gasped, amazed at her. She was average height, maybe five, two except for her black leather boots. They added another few inches. Blue skinny jeans were tucked inside them as they rose half way up her calves. Her hips were small and she was skinny but fit. Her skin, a beautiful olive tone that glistened in the cars lights. She wore a tight purple tank top underneath her black leather jacket and laughed. Her voice was joyous, rumbling like her car and her white smile was stretched into an exuberant grin. Red lips surrounded it, matching her smoky purple eye shadow. As she glanced around the crowd that accumulated, Robin drank in her eyes. They were a soft beautiful green, bright and fiery as the depths of hell, Robin could see she was a person of interest in the crowd. A high person of interest. Medium length black hair fell around her face, similar to Miss Martian's style. It just brushed her shoulders, but it was enough.

The others passed her a hamburger and a soda. She waved them off, her long graceful fingers showing off purple nails. Guys seemed to joke around her, girls seemed to intimidate her powerful stance. The older crowd treated her as a daughter, giving her hugs and shaking a warning to her sarcastically. The younger kids grabbed hold of her legs and pleaded to see her. She obliged, hoisting up the kids and playing with them. She rolled her eyes and leaned on one side. She was average, yet not.

Suddenly a trio of guys came up the group shouting.

"Hey, hey! We're clear; Cops are on the bridge and Batman's downtown! Let's race!"

Screams of excitement erupted from the crowd as money was pulled out and a few older gentlemen laid down the rules.

"Alright down the block and back is up first. It's a two mile overall. $300 in, additional bet is own game. We are not responsible for any pink calls or sabotage!"

"Second we'll be down the block to the end, one mile, $200 in. Same rules for bets and pinks."

"Third we'll have the ½ mile, marked by the checkered flag, $100 in. You know the rules."

"Lastly the ¼ mile with $50 entrance. Finish line painted in red. You know the game so don't be stupid!"

"What about an 1/8 mile?" A kid asked.

"Who wants an 1/8 mile?" The gentleman asked.

"I do!" "I'll go!" "Bring it on!" The teens and younger adults cried, the older gentlemen shared a look and nodded.

"We'll go for an 1/8 mile, $30 that ok?"

The crowd cheered and raced to their cars. The entire party seemed to grow to even greater level of excitement. Regardless of how much he wanted to see the speed of the cars, especially that Chevelle, Robin pressed his comm and spoke.

"Batman, I'm down in the C District, we got a street race about to start. Intercept or wait? Gordon's still at the bridge."

"Robin you are clear to intercept," Batman approved.

Robin grinned and climbed over the roof edge, silently climbing down the fire escape and watching the crowd.

Participants lined up their cars at a white line spray painted on the pavement. People who didn't race lined up their cars down the whole street, lighting the way. Music still blared and food was still passed around as a guy went around collecting money. Robin noticed that some of the racers made bets between themselves, joking and teasing each other.

"Alright boys and girls we got the 2 mile up and ready!" A gentlemen announced through a megaphone. He had a great booming announcer type voiced and hyped up the crowd.

"We've got a quartet for our first run and they are all Chevys!" He cried, "Down on the far left of me is the amazing 1956 Chevy Gasser in green! He's got a nice 396 cubic inch and surprise no nitrous! I don't know what he's thinking but hey he's cashed in and racing. Introducing for the first time in Gotham is Ricky!"

The green Chevy sitting high up on regular sized tires growled. It was a simple bright green with metallic flakes spread across the sides. The teen laughed, clearly new to this, unaware that the roundabout at the end might flip him.

"Next to him is one of our pop ins from Star City! Trey is in a 1977 cruising El Camino. He's a fiend with two packs of nitrous and automatic! Now if you'll remember the right axle broke in the Star Streets just a month ago, but it looks like he's back in and ready to show that the small trucks can race!"

The El Camino was a sloping small truck that sat low to the ground and with a tiny cab and tiny bed. Two blue bottles of explosive fire to launch him forward. The car was burgundy with a white vinyl top and the guy inside was a seasoned racer, fitting a helmet and gloves on.

"Thirdly comes the beautiful and exquisite Meriana! Better known as Dragon! She may be the only lady in our line up but she's got a bad ass Super Sport Chevelle that eats you for lunch! Gotham is her new territory and has stolen the Underground title from our late Jeff! She's packing heat tonight as well with nitrous and a new improved 424 cubic inch and a manual!"

The crowd had cheered loudly, but at the mention of the Chevelle and its driver, the crowd went into an uproar. As Robin hid behind the spectators, he saw money exchanged and bets made. He could tell by her narrowed eyes and pursed lips, Meriana was in to win and she rolled her gloved fingers over the wheel, hitting the throttle. The crowd screamed "Dragon!" and she smiled.

The announcer followed up with a white with a single red stripe on its side, 1941 convertible Chevy Master Deluxe. One that held no nitrous but instead had an impressive big block complete with a blower on top. He too had an infamous name as Greaser. Just as Robin was about to throw his birdarangs to shoot out the tires, the announcer waved down a green flag and the cars took off amid the excitement.


	3. Chapter 2

The cars drove off with a bang. Literally, the engines fired off hot and with plenty of heat. Robin improvised and shot a birdarang line at the late starter, 50s Gasser. The speed was unbelievable. He gripped the bline was he hoisted himself above the quick flying pavement and onto the trunk. He activated magnets in his gloves by pressing his fingers together and crawled over the car like a spidermonkey. The driver, Ricky, was most definitely surprised when Robin peeked in his window.

"What the?" He gasped, staring at the thirteen year old kid, "How the?"

He whipped his head back and forth between the road and the Boy Wonder.

"Dude!" Robin cackled, "You look like you're disconcerted!"

"Shut up!" Ricky growled, swinging wildly at the bird.

Thanks to the magnets on his hands, Robin was able to slide down below the window out of his reach. He cackled before popping up again. Ricky stared at him screaming as he twisted the wheel. Robin took care of the situation quickly, grabbing the wheel from the panicking racer and turning it.

"Get off my wheel!" He yelled, taking it back.

"Hey try renial if you're in denial ok?" Robin jumped off as the car swerved into the 41 Deluxe, causing both cars to slam into the roundabout.

Using the momentum, Robin swung around the tree on the roundabout and between the two lamp post, landing on the hood of the El Camino.

"Get off my car kid!" Trey yelled, motioning for him to leave.

"What are you doing man?" Robin cackled, falling on his magnets to stay on the hood.

"You're scratching my paint!" He screamed.

"My bad, try racing where it's legal ya? Maybe a racetrack?" Robin snickered, crawling over the side to grab Trey.

"Think you're so cool? Sticking to my car? Try this!" Trey muttered, punching the nitrous.

The car shot forward, Trey flew back against the seat and Robin flew over into the bed.

He kept his head down as Trey laughed.

"Ha! Got you punk! No one messes with my paint!"

"Get traught dude I'm right here!" Robin laughed, crawling in through the passenger window.

"You little…" Trey growled, he pulled a knife from under his seat and tried hitting Robin.

Try all he might, steering a car with nitrous blowing, he was clumsy and unfocused, allowing Robin to quickly overcome him. The Boy Wonder grabbed the knife and sliced the racing belts around Trey's torso and pulled him away from the wheel. Robin leapt from the swerving small truck as it careened towards the crowd. He turned, flinging birdarangs, deflating the tires and causing the classic to halt suddenly slamming its bumper into the pavement.

"Nice work Junior Bat!" A woman yelled.

He heard a crack and sizzle. Robin turned to see that the woman in the Chevelle, Meriana had won, due to his interference and now stalked forward with an electric whip.

"My name is not Junior Bat!" Robin yelled, flinging two more birdarangs.

She skipped over one and leaned down for the second, grinning. Robin saw the cars leaving in a hurry and people panicking. The two classics at the roundabout were crumpled against each other and the drivers dazed but alright. Trey had already scrambled off, calling to his friends.

"Junior Bat, Baby Bat, BatKid, BatBoy, I really don't care!" Meriana rolled her eyes.

"You're racing illegally!" Robin pushed his point, rolling away from her whip.

"Oh yes," She dramatized, "I'm so bad! Driving a car around a tree and couple of lights earns me a lifetime in Arkham!"

"You're going to jail!" Robin yelled, "Along with the rest of your friends!"

"Right, look kid, you don't know squat about anything. You'll never find us and you'll never take us to jail."

"You are going!" Robin spat, analyzing how to take out the whip.

"You and what army?" She smirked.

She flung the whip at him. It hissed against the pavement and Robin gasped. Black smoking scorch marks remained on the ground and he saw that the whip was simply a modified jumper cable. The claws open to spitting spark as soon as it hit against anything. She clutched her hand around what looked like a small charger on her end. Crude as it was and as much as she didn't look like a jewel thief, Robin was reminded of Catwoman. The sarcasm, the whip, the fact it was a girl…

"I don't need an army! I've got me!" Robin laughed, rolling around her.

Before Meriana could turn around, he kicked out her legs. Her hand opened and he grabbed the cable, throwing it off to the side. She had fallen on the ground by now and he stood over her.

"What's the matter?" He asked, "Not feeling the aster?"

"Aster this!" She snarled.

She kicked him in the groin and leaped away. Thanks to the extra padding, Robin simply stumbled back and was after her. She slipped in her car through the window and sped off.

"Robin, get in," Batman gruffed through his ear piece as the Batmobile pulled up, silent but deadly.

"We've got a runner. Quite a couple, but I think this one's important so let's go!" Robin said, tossing the girl's makeshift whip in the back.

He may have disarmed her, but who was to say that it wouldn't be retrieved?

Batman nodded to the bird and sped off, following the sounds of an angry beast tearing through Gotham. They found her quickly, her orange shell glowing under the street lights. As much horsepower and nitrous she had, the Batmobile had more! Batman turned the car, aiming to bump the bumper and cause a spinout when brakes flashed and the car swerved to the side. Batman pursued, going down a windy drive into an underground parking structure.

"Wow! How dumb can she be?" Robin asked as the noise echoed, "We're in a parking garage! We can hear her anywhere!"

"That would be the problem," Batman mused.

The garage was almost full, evidence of security detail for the district. Batman growled under his breath. He could not pinpoint the car due to how much it echoed off the walls. The Batmobile's systems fluctuated, unable to direct the Dark Knight to the source. Batman cruised, if it could be called that, at around 45 miles an hour, searching for the car.

Suddenly the computer beeped, pointing west. Batman gunned it, just as the noise evaporated, the beautiful muscle car vanishing out into the street. For twenty minutes, Batman searched the C District, before putting it to an end.

At the scene of the race, the only evidence were scorch marks from braking and Meriana's whips and some litter from the meals. Robin saw how quickly the street had been reverted back to its grimy abandoned look. Even the wrecked cars had been towed by the looks of it. The classics were gone. And so was their only lead.


	4. Chapter 3

Back in the cave Robin and Batman or Dick and Bruce discussed the drivers and their unique appearance.

"How long have they been there?" Dick asked, unclipping his cape.

"I'm not sure," Bruce mused, pulling his cowl up and over his head, "Obviously a while."

"No duh, but how could we have missed it?" Dick asked as he continued to hang his accoutrements in the glass case.

"I will look into it," Bruce sighed, setting his utility belt on the desk.

"I'll help! I can stay here," Dick begged, Bruce cut him off.

"You have school tomorrow and the Team tomorrow night, you need to continue your work with them," Bruce said, accepting his ward's utility belt.

"I don't have to go back," Dick growled, "Gotham needs its heroes. Both of them. They've already forgotten my name!"

"Enough! You will go to school and stay with Young Justice!" Bruce growled, seeing Dick's shock, he relented, "This concerns you? More than Sportsmaster? More than Two Face?"

"They think they can get away with it!" Dick argued, "That they can race without punishment!"

"They will not. They will see justice."

"Then let me go after them!"

Bruce gave a look at his young adopted son. He was young and brash, but also skillful and determined. He knew just as he had a few months before, Dick would find a way to fight crime regardless of Bruce's orders. It would be eerily similar to when he, Kid Flash and Aqualad broke into Cadmus and freed Superboy. He sighed, shaking his head. Dick grinned as he saw his adopted father relent completely.

"Alright, you can take this case. On two conditions!" Bruce held up two fingers as Dick whopped with joy.

"You will investigate first and only engage with sufficient evidence. You will not involve any other heroes as it is Gotham."

"Sweet! This is so awesome!" Dick cartwheeled around the Batcave as Bruce gave a warm smile.

Even in danger and death, Dick always gave off auras of happiness. Regardless of all the crime and corruption in Gotham and the world at large, Bruce knew that Dick reminded him that good existed.

He eyed Dick as he somersaulted in his direction and lunged. He grabbed him out of midair and gave a raised eyebrow at his son as Dick struggled to free himself. Bruce only held him up by the scruff of his collar and Dick pouted.

""I can't go now can I?"

""Nope. Up to bed, you've got school tomorrow."

"Aw! I don't want to go!"

"Go. You know that if you get less than a C you can't go on patrol and that goes for this as well," Bruce reminded him, dropping his son.

"I am so not whelmed…" Dick grumbled, heading to the showers.

Bruce allowed a second small smile as he turned to work on the belts. Even if Dick showered and went to bed, as he was supposed to, Bruce would stay up for another hour and a half to repair the belts and suits alone. Afterwards he would shower himself and return to the study to work on Wayne Enterprise paperwork. Dick may only end up with about six hours of sleep a night, but Bruce would get less than three. It was worth it however to keep his city safe.

Bruce continued to work through the night and a few hours later he walked out of his library, satisfied that the numbers were aligned right for his new cancer research program. He yawned, walking through the halls of the manor.

"Master Bruce? You are up early," Alfred met him on the central staircase.

Even at 5:30 in the morning, Alfred was prepped for the day, dressed in his regular suit and with what was left of his gray hair parted neatly to the side and his mustache trimmed perfectly. His thick British accent portrayed no surprise, simply acceptance of his master's activities.

"Ah yes Alfred, I'm just heading to bed actually."

"Shall I call Wayne Enterprises and tell them you taking a, as you call it, sick day sir?"

"No Alfred, I'll be in by 9, I just need a quick nap," Bruce nodded and headed towards Dick's room.

He poked his head into the room, nodding his head to his son. He saw the fluff of ebony hair sprayed across the massive pillows. He was glad to have him as a son, more glad then he was being Robin. Bruce knew that Dick wanted to be his own hero, but Bruce was unsure if that was what he wanted. He understood Dick's need to serve justice and protect, but Bruce didn't want his ward to become him. To become alone and secluded. Dick was an incredible hero, but he was still only a kid.

Bruce closed the door and returned to his own bedroom, collapsing on the bed, exhausted from the night and yet satisfied that he had contributed to keeping his city safe for another night.

**Author's Note:**

**Hey so first time writing a Daddy Bat's piece! How was it? Also tell me would you like to see Artemis at Gotham Academy? Or Dick bring in his friends for his mission? If so, who and how? Comment, Review! Give me some feedback! Thanks!**


	5. Chapter 4

Over the next week and a half, Dick continued his double life in Gotham. He explained to his team that while he wanted to go after Sportsmaster as much as they did, he had business in Gotham. They understood obviously and he gave Artemis one last fleeting look over the webcam.

He knew thanks to Batman the tie between the villain and the archer and wished that he could help her, but he knew that with the others, she'd be alright even against her own father.

The thought crossed his mind again after a weekend that had given him leads on street races. Artemis was waiting on the front lawn, unaware that the Boy Wonder was behind her. Even from 10 feet away, he could see the shine of tears that wiped away her make up. She must have been up all night because Artemis hardly wore make up and the amount of foundation she caked over the bags under her eyes was extremely thick.

Dick had heard that the mission against Sportsmaster had been mildly successful. Successful due to the fact they had prevented the villain from succeeding in transporting the equipment of Professor Ivo, however he had escaped from the team.

He yearned to comfort over it, however Bruce forbad revealing his identity to her, he smiled however knowing one person could help her. He took out his unique one of a kind Smartphone, one that was light years ahead of any IPhone or Droid, designed by Mr. Fox and implemented by Bruce. The phone even scrambled the radio waves to prevent people from tracing his messages and allowing him to safely text the one who knew his identity

Dick: **Hey you seen Artemis lately?**

Wally: **Why? Not like she was that great.**

Dick sighed, so he was still mad about the tracer that had sent him and Roy off on a train while she engaged Cheshire and Sportsmaster herself.

Dick: **Dude relax, she got you his mask and took him out. She also was able to bring him down, unlike you**

Wally: **Is there a point to this? I'm kinda eatin**

Dick: **Just give her a call; she's still overthinking that trip you took**

Wally: **Fine, but I did nothing!**

Dick smiled, sliding his phone into the pocket inside his blazer; he watched Artemis glare away his supposed friends and only left when she picked up her phone mouthing Wally.

He brushed through the rest of Monday with a breeze and smirked in satisfaction. It was 3:15, school was out and Artemis no longer looked like punching Bette in the face. He walked to the limo where Alfred waited.

"Good afternoon Master Richard, any plans this afternoon?" Alfred asked softly.

"None at all Alfred," Dick smiled.

"Then we can return to the manor for you to study Latin," Alfred barely hid his smirk as Dick grumbled.

"I hate Latin," He grumbled, Alfred chuckled softly as they drove down one of many streets out of the main city.

"As soon as you learn to speak it, you'll love it sir."

"Ut mendacium," He snapped, meaning 'that's a lie.'

"Dominus autem mihi, tu melius," Alfred countered, it meant 'now my dear master, you have been improving.'

Just as Dick was about to retort, something caught his eye out the window.

It was her, Meriana, the young girl from the races! In all his searching over the weekend, both on the street and in the Batcave's systems, he hadn't found a trace of her. Even using the DNA from her makeshift whip had turned up nothing and yet here she was!

"Alfred, I think I've changed my mind about this afternoon…"

"Anything to get out of Latin I see," Alfred chuckled, turning down a street into the city, "Would you like me to come back after you've enjoyed your pizza?"

"Sure," Dick grinned as Alfred pulled next to an alley by a pizza place, Dick slipped inside and watched Alfred leave.

He pulled his glasses out and slipped out and down the street. He didn't have to look long however as the roar of the Dragon alerted him, he patted his backpack reassuringly, knowing he at least had his utility belt.

He followed the engine's roar and found himself in an alleyway where the red beast growled. Meriana had her head hanging out her window, admiring her face in the side mirror. Dick took the opportunity and slipped on a black sweatshirt and walked over to the car.

"What do you want kid?" She asked languidly and slightly annoyed, "I've got parts coming and if they don't come cause of you, you're gonna get it,"

"I just had to find you, see if it was true," Dick said casually.

"See if what was true?" She asked.

"The races. Here in Gotham, I want in,"

"Pft, ya right, come back in a few years kid,"

"I've raced before," Dick growled.

He breathed slowly. He had spent the weekend investigating owners of classic cars. He had pieced together that the races were exclusive and unplanned. That only the highest members of the car community could announce races. Sanctioned races anyway. He had learned that this car culture had spread like wildfire for years over the world. It compiled old and young people, females and males, all ethnicities and all sorts of people, rich and poor. Dick had been amazed at the wealth of information and their way of communicating. He had learned how they communicated dates, by sending in codes through everyday messages. They used phrases and terminology that was unfamiliar to Dick, unfamiliar to anyone that didn't know cars. As impressive as it was though, Dick had still studied the interesting codes to get in. It had been clear that he wouldn't be able to predict a race or simply intimidate a driver to take him in; he had to sneak in by gaining their trust. Trust by using a tactic that any fourteen year old boy did.

"Where? You're what? 11?" Meriana raised an eyebrow.

"14," Dick grinned, "There's places you can drive, just not a car."

"Smallville?" She asked, smothering her laughter, "Listen kid, tractors and buggys are not what you're gonna find here in the city."

"So what? I've watched them, I've shifted, I just moved here, figured I'd get in and not stay in the pits anymore."

"You were not in the pits," Meriana laughed out loud, "No way,"

Crap, Dick thought, pits meant he worked on the cars and had a driver he supported, he should have said the stands, he would be an audience member that way. Now he had to move forward, he couldn't go back.

"I was, bolted the tires once in a while, but nothing major," Dick rushed, remembering Bruce's classic, "It was an 1/8 mile, 65 Pontiac, convertible."

"GTO?" Meriana asked, a hint of longing in her voice.

"Yup," Dick grinned, seeing her soften.

After a moment of silence, Meriana raised her eyebrow and leaned to the passenger door, unlocking it.

"Tell me you know more than bolting tires,"

"I know a lot more," He grinned, sliding in on the vinyl seats, "So what about those parts?"

"Already got them," She grinned, Dick realized he meant her.

"How'd you-?" He stammered, worried she had seen him as Dick Grayson.

"I know kids in the area have been itching to get in," She smiled, "Figured one would hear me hiring."

"I did, you can hear this thing a mile away," Dick laughed as she pulled out.

As they sped away, Dick grinned at how easy it had been to get in. He nodded along as Meriana cranked up the radio, the only modern accessory playing The Reaper by Blue Oyster Cult. He noticed with a quick look that she had no weaponry or drugs; her car was in fact spotless. He wondered what had possibly made her become a criminal. She seemed like a smart girl and it was a shame that he would have to take her to jail by the time this was over.

As he watched the darker half of the city go by, he frowned, knowing that she probably didn't want to be one. She probably just wanted to be free and with the wind rushing through his black hair and the thrum of the car underneath him, he felt the thrill of freedom as well.

Freedom however was earned.

**Author's Note:**

**Hey sorry it took so long! Work, school, you know the drill! Anyway here you go! I'd totally suggest looking up the Pontiac and Blue Oyster Cult! They are amazing! Also how'd like the hints of other teammates and such, Alfred and Bruce were favorites of mine but you tell me! What do you like? What do you want? Thanks!**


	6. Chapter 5

The Chevelle pulled into a garage and she cut the engine, the silence was strange to Dick's ears after the twenty minute drive. Twenty minutes however to spin a story. Meriana unknowingly giving him help.

He was Johnny Kicks, a fan of the tractor races in Smallville. He had been to the Smallville Straits helping bolt tires and learn the trade, more of a shadow in multiple pit crews then an actual member. He had moved to Gotham with a pair of normal parents just a week ago. By the time that Robin had crashed the race in the C District, "Johnny" was about to come watch.

"Alright, so my crew's coming in five, let me show you around," Meriana waved him in and Dick looked up impressed.

They weren't in the greatest area, but not the worst either. Meriana's garage was between Old Gotham where the C District and Crime Alley was and the northern tunnel to the mainland that ran underneath the sea. Here if he caught the right angle between the industrial warehouses Dick could see the shine of the sea. It was good to know that he could make a fast exit in an emergency.

"So here's my bay, only got one lift but what'll you do?" Meriana was oblivious to the Boy Wonder's searching gaze, "My loft's up top and I've got the space in front. Thanks to Jedy, I didn't get a bigger shop, but at least I've got a corner which gives me more street. As you cans see I've got tires, parts, engines and even a new metal bench. That's gonna be saving me some time,"

Meriana laughed as Dick took in the shop. She was right, it was small, she had a car lift in the center with a large bench going across the back wall. He saw that the same machine to shape and cut bearings sat next to a drum of metal shavings and above it small boxes bolted to the wall. He knew that each of them held numerous bolts, nuts and washers. He saw some work lights propped up on the bench and leading to a rack of tires of different sizes.

Between the bench and a bathroom was a staircase leading up into the rafters of the garage, the wooden steps looked rickety and about to break. Sitting on the ground next to them, wrapped in thick bubble wrap were a couple of chrome wheels. A door to what he assumed was an office was between them and a cabinet.

Following it, he saw a line of them and boxes of antifreeze, oil and coolant stacked on top of each other. A laundry bag was piled high of blue rags while a red can held dirty ones. On the other side of the left, perpendicular to the metal shavings was a semi clean bookshelf of magazines, manuals and photo albums. Next to it were open containers of car wash, polish, wax and yellow rags.

The shop smelled of grease and sweat and more importantly of warmth. He saw dust fly as Meriana walked around and rummage, opening the office door. It amazed him how she was so at ease and realized that maybe it was that she was on her own turf here. Photos and décor from the early 30s to late 70s hung around the shop haphazardly and yet precise. Stools were shoved up against the bench and walls, mobile tool stands were abandoned wherever they stood, tools cast on the ground, bench and everywhere.

"Hey kid you want a coke?" She asked, pushing open a window between two cabinets from the office.

"Sure," He followed into the office, noticing an L shape desk and dingy office chair in one corner and two other chairs in the room.

They were in the shape of race seats and a table with the V8 symbol imprinted on it. He saw a 50s style fridge and an old coffeemaker. He saw a metal cabinet that he suspected had snacks stuffed inside. He grinned at the sign post that had clearly been through a chainsaw on its way here that said Judge Lane. A mini jukebox sat on the shelf under the window and a second pair of doors opened to the street. He saw the shine of the muscle car through the tinted glass.

What stood out above all was a picture frame with a metal sign inside. It was burnt around the edges and the bold print fading. It clearly belonged somewhere else and had been carted to its place of honor with great care. It read in faded bold letters: Honest Ern's.

"So how did you manage to get into this?" Dick asked, Meriana smiled nodding to the print.

"My dad," She sighed, sipping a grape flavored PowerAde, "He started it all."

"He was into classics?" Dick asked, wondering if maybe he was a crime lord that she was forced to inherit.

"Ya, he owned Honest Ern's. The only shop that didn't try to bolt a weight to your tire," She laughed, "ripping people off wasn't his style."

"So what happened? If he was such a great guy…" Dick asked, worried someone had shot her dad for being respectful of the customers.

"He retired. Refused to sell the name. The original place is on the coast of California, just a small town, nowhere you'd hear of kid."

"Oh you'd be surprised."

"Anyway my dad ran a resto shop and all but what he really loved was racing. We went out every weekend as a kid. Most girls wanted a white pony and pink dresses. I wanted a big block and a leather jacket." Meriana got up and stretched showing off her plain Jane white shirt and jeans, "I got both and was happy. The girls I went to school with got makeup and clothes. While they primped themselves to go to prom I was in the shop putting on new door panels."

"Sounds like a great time, your dad still around?" Dick asked, baffled by her idyllic childhood.

"A year ago," Meriana's eyes became clouded, "91 and the tank ran empty. Of course after that I moved on. I couldn't stay. Not with his presence everywhere I went."

"I'm so sorry," Dick bent his head, he knew that losing a parent was hard, but losing someone that had such an influence on your future had to be worse.

Even after a year here she was, racing. She probably raced for profit like most smugglers, but she also drove to escape her father's shadow and at the same time honor it.

"I chose Gotham because he never stepped foot here," Meriana explained, "He rode the West Coast; farthest inland he got was the east end of Nevada. Told me that he couldn't stand not being near the ocean. I'm telling you kid, driving along the mountainside overlooking the sea is the best feeling you'll ever have."

"I'll have to try it sometime. So when did you get here? Obviously you had to have some job or family to be able to stay here right?" Dick asked, hoping for some relevant insight.

"Like I said a year ago. Great thing about us classic people, we know people even if we've never met them. My dad may have had one shop, but he was known everywhere! I was able to travel cross country just by mentioning I was a Wilson and my dad was Ern The Dog. Took me two and a half months when I was leaving Metropolis to hear about the Underground in Gotham. I wanted in. Called up Aaron Sliverem and he said he could get me a job selling parts at NAPA. I took it and started college thanks to my mom. Took me about a month to find Jedy and convince him to get me a crew and a shop."

"That's incredible!" Dick's eyes widened behind his glasses, "It's like… wow!"

"I know, but like I said, Ern was The Dog, he was a big name in the 1/8 and ¼ miles. Others knew him by his work. You'll always know what he worked on. He burns his mark. Cars that he worked on, will get an extra couple hundred bucks. Just because he worked on them."

"Damn," Dick sighed, taking in the wealth of information.

"Ya, but hey enough with the history lesson," Meriana rolled her eyes, pushing the doors open, "Hey hey what's going on guys?"

Dick watched silently as she greeted her crew, 5 guys, all around early twenties and driving their own cars. Meriana's however was clearly the best.

Dick mused over the information as the group mingled and joked over each other's junkers. Meriana certainly didn't seem like a criminal and neither did her father. Gotham however was a hell hole, why would anyone want to set up races here? As for this Jedy person, he knew he'd have to look into him more. He clearly played a big role in getting this shop for Meriana as well as Aaron Silverem for getting her a job at NAPA.

Dick massaged his forehead, troubled. As many questions that Meriana had unknowingly answered for him, she had left open a wide door of unanswered ones.

**Author's Note:**

**Hey! So how do you like it? I know it's not Dick centric but tons of car references! Don't worry if you can't understand all of them, it's not bad, like I said car lingo! Next chapter I promise more Dick and his colorful alter ego! Comment if you want other teammates or more Bats! **

**Thanks!**


	7. Chapter 6

Dick learned over the next few weeks that being a Robin, covert hero was hard, being the adopted son of Bruce Wayne was harder and being Johnny Kicks was actually not.

Balancing a triple life was hard, Dick soon learned that how to sleep with four hours and still maintain all his lives.

As Dick Grayson he was Gotham Academy's star mathlete, innocent prince of Gotham and docile accessory to Bruce Wayne at events.

As Robin, the Boy Wonder he worked on the covert team with fellow young heroes and was the team's computer hacker. He cackled his way through villains using his own martial arts instead of superpowers.

As Johnny Kicks, he wasn't silent as Dick nor was he over confident as Robin. He simply existed as part of a crew. This crew was unlike the covert team or Batman. He was only expected not to break anything and he was only dependent on his hands. In the garage there was no computers, no high tech tools. It took him a while to get used to it, but he learned eventually as he always did.

As he screwed bolts, put in radiators and changed tires, he learned who he was working with and who they really were. Surprisingly enough, the people he met had no secrets, they weren't criminals, they weren't refuges or anything! They all had jobs, loved ones and lives out in daylight as well as the moonlight!

Aaron Towers or Auto was a driver of a Gotham taxi. He went to Dartech, a training school for people in the auto industry. He had just gotten over a girl by working hard on his orange 1970 Dodge Dart.

Tony Pars was a mechanic at Gemstone, a big national mechanic shop. He was dating a girl named Darcy who was a nurse at Gotham General. He owned a Harley chopper that he had just finished fixing.

Rambler Will, an older gentleman, was the most experienced. He worked as a contractor around the city and owned a 60s Rambler. A small white car that he had owned for over a decade. He was the oldest and most experienced out of the whole crew next to his friend Derrick.

Derrick owned a Falcon, for almost as long as Will. He had graduated with an engineering degree, however unable to find any work besides being a salesman at American Auto Parts.

Lastly was Kolby, a teenager a few years older than Dick. He went to Seasun High a school in Gotham's northern area. It was a decent area and he was debating what car to get after earning money by working for Jedy.

Jedy meanwhile owned a towing company and had connections to all the major and small time repair shops, dealerships and parts stores. He was a big name but no connection whatsoever to anything nefarious.

Dick sighed in the BatCave going over notes. He had been with Meriana and her crew for over three weeks. Nothing strange had come up. The crew was putting the finishing touches on their cars ready to go to the Gotham Grease, a car show hosted annually at a park where hundreds of cars parked and basked in the glory of the public. It was also where the next race for the Underground would supposedly be announced. Dick was anxious, nothing was wrong, these people were perfectly right. He tracked their buyers and sellers, their parts and phone calls, he placed mics and cameras all around the garage and still nothing! He debated to ask Bruce for help, but shook his head; he could handle this on his own.

His fingers hovered above the call button to the Cave. He could call them, to have them help, but hesitated. If Bruce found out they infiltrated his city, he'd have his head and the Team's!

Dick discarded his shades sadly and went to his Robin uniform. As much as he wanted to investigate more, he had to go with the Team to Bialya. He hung up his hoodie and vanished into the zeta tube with a frown just as Batman came down.

Batman sighed; he was worried over his ward. Dick always left the cave with a smile. Excited to apprehend a criminal or join his friends on a mission. He looked over the computer and saw that Dick had left his mission notes open. Batman's frown deepened. It wasn't like Dick to leave the computer open. He gazed over the information, studying it. As much freedom as he gave his son to spy and take down the drivers, he still kept an eye on him, going over the C District and the garage where he was in hoping to find crucial information. He had found nothing. Noticing Dick's final note on the bottom however made him pause.

_January 7th 2011, Day 22, Time: 18:08:_

_Today I again worked as Johnny kicks or Shades as Tony calls me for my refusal to take off my glasses. We put in a new carburetor on Derrick's Falcon, the second one this week. As frustrated as they are, I still have no evidence to bring they are obtaining these parts illegally or working alongside criminals._

_The crew knows of The Batman and Robin, they know of villains such as Two Face and Catwoman, but show no more knowledge then any common person on the street. This further proves their innocence in criminal activities._

_They invited me again to participate in dinner at the café on fourth and had to decline. I regret hurting them, but it is necessary. I believe however that my mission here is concluded. Unless new evidence comes to light and confirms criminal activity I will close this case and these people as a non-threat._

_Batman may not believe me, but I believe that these people are simply enjoying their cars and further research has confirmed my theories on why they race illegally. No race tracks exist for them to go to. In Gotham or any major "racing center" as they call it. I will bring the matter up to Bruce about possibly building a racing center for them to race legally on. It can also provide good steady work for those who cannot get a job elsewhere._

Batman cocked his head and looked to the darkened zeta tube. He wondered why Dick hadn't spoken to him about this idea of his yet. Of course he would build a track for these kids! If there really wasn't any activity going on, then he'd be more than happy to keep these kids happy with their cars. In fact he knew the perfect spot. He closed out his son's notes and cameras and brought up reports of Queen Bee. She was planning something. She had been uncharacteristically silent for a few weeks since the Team had fought her in December. He wanted the Team to investigate her and see what she was planning.

As he connected to the Cave, he gave a rare grin. Alfred walked to his side.

"Something wrong Master Bruce?"

"No Alfred, everything is right. Perfectly alright."


	8. Chapter 7

Another week followed and the Gotham Grease car show came and went. Dick convinced Bruce to let him skip out on team training to go. Dick couldn't understand why or how he was being so nice. It was unlike him to allow Dick an investigation for this long. Regardless Dick drove with Meriana to the show and discovered more of the car culture he had ever thought to know.

They pulled her Chevelle up on the grass with Will's Rambler and Auto's Dodge on either side of hers. She propped the hood up and sighed. Dick had discovered she had been up at 4am that Saturday to prep. Her car had been washed, waxed and polished. The inside had been vacuumed and wiped down while the engine was pressure washed and the chrome covers polished. She took no chances in the show. She loved the attention and introduced Dick to tons of other car enthusiasts. Eventually though, she waved him off as she spoke with some older gentlemen.

Dick growled at being sentenced away like a child and prepared to dive back in when a hand caught his arm. He swung around, preparing a punch when he saw the dark blue eyes of a young boy. He frowned, trying to rack a name.

"Hey you're Shades right?" He asked, skinny and pale.

"Uh ya. You're Jason right?" Dick asked, recognizing the eager pitch of the black haired boy.

"Ya!" Jason beamed, "I told them you'd be here!"

"Who?" Dick asked.

"The Big Ones," Jason whispered, "They want you in!"

"No way!" Dick grinned; the Big Ones were the unofficial leaders of the Gotham Underground.

The ones who organized the car shows and races. They controlled the younger crowd and made sure everybody got by alright. He had never met them, but he had seen plenty of them. They roamed in packs of three. It was supposed to be in homage to the Big Three of car companies, Ford, Chrysler and General Motors or GM. They were the oldest and most experienced. Whenever they came by the garage, Meriana shooed everyone out and spoke with them up in her loft. Dick of course had bugged it and found that they only discussed he well-being. They went over her employment and school, the shop management and her presence on the streets. They wanted her expertise and involvement in activities and plans. Dick suspected that if she wasn't so young that she would be the exclusive club that was the Big Ones.

He also knew from his research and common knowledge from the car owners that the Big Ones allowed new racers and drivers to be officially inducted into the community. How they went about doing that, he had no idea, but if what Jason said was true, Dick could find out soon.

"Ya, so Jedy said he could get you a job at NAPA picking up phones in the back, taking orders if you want and we all know who will sponsor you. I'd be surprised if Meriana didn't want to. Oh and Tony said you were interested in bikes well there's a great Indian for sale. I think like early 30s but hey with his help you'll be cruising in no time! You've only got a year and a half till your permit! Plenty of time to fix it up!"

"I can get my own bike," Dick ruffled the eight year old's head, "As cool as Indians are, I'd like a Suzuki, they're really sleek and well cool. Especially the newer ones."

"Ah but those hide the engine!" Jason whined.

"Haha, maybe I don't want everyone to see how much heat I'm packing?" Dick laughed.

"Oh!" Jason's eyes widened, "Supercharged in a four stroke!"

"Ya!" Dick smiled, as Jason ran off yelling excitedly.

He watched the young boy weave through the crowd happily. Jason was an alright kid. He brought snacks for the crew once a week and always dog eared the books in the office. Dick could see the kid growing up and joining Meriana's crew one day. He was innocent enough.

He turned around as Meriana joined him.

"You hear what happen?" She asked, motioning to Jason.

"No, what happened?" He asked, worried for the kid.

"His dad, well some people found out why he's never at the shows. He turned into Two Face's personal taxi," Meriana shook her head, "Disappeared yesterday morning. Jedy said hat Jason hasn't been home though in over a week."

"What about his mom?" Dick asked, careful not to get emotional.

"No idea, but I can tell you that I met her about a few months ago, when I first came here. I was worried about Jason. He used to hang around the shop for days at a time. His mom's into some drugs. Not something small but something like crack. She's knocked out half the time and the other half she's delirious trashing the apartment," Meriana sighed, "Jedy wants me to take him in, keep him safe, but I don't know. I'm set up as a lone girl you know."

"That's rough," Dick nodded, careful to keep an even tone.

He knew that Two Face was amassing some big muscle; he wanted to buy out the mayor. But now that Jason's dad was involved and Jason was so close to the car community, Dick feared their peaceful lives might end in tatters. He tightened his fists, swearing to tell Bruce about the predicament as soon as he got home.

"You're close to him; you're the youngest next to him. Jedy's going to talk to him tonight if they can't get his dad out and he'll need a friend."

"I'll be there," Dick sighed, knowing it'd be tough to get out of patrol.

"Thanks, but besides that… how you liking the show? Bigger than Smallville right?"

"It's awesome! Way bigger too."

Dick wasn't lying; the show had over three hundred classic cars amassed on the grass, in the lots and on the curb. The cars shone beautifully, colorful gems in the bright sun. Kids ran between the cars chasing each other as older gentlemen lounged in chairs. Groups of middle aged couples argued over how much to spend on a car or a part playfully as college kids attempted to upgrade and buy trinkets for themselves. The people varied just as much as when Dick had first seen them in the C District. They wore plain t-shirts and jeans to tight hugging halters and shorts to era specific dresses to elaborate costumes proclaiming famous car movies. Food trucks had set up and sold standard hot dogs and burgers while Ice Cream vendors rolled around, followed by children. Hobby owners set up tents alongside parts stores earning more customers with model cars and the newest valve covers. Cameras clicked and people joked.

Dick felt like it was a big family. In fact he watched multiple times as someone called "Dad" and five or six people turned around expecting themselves to be called. He could also tell the difference between the true car owners and those who faked it. True car people laughed and messed with each other, reverencing this guy or that company while the outside people skirted around corners and were silent, too afraid to speak while curiosity burned behind their eyes. Dick muffled a laugh every time someone asked if a car could go fast as the owner stared at them. The car would have a massive big block with a supercharger and the poor clueless person stuttered.

He watched as judges, local car enthusiasts and sponsors walked around and judged the cars based on various categories. He whistled loudly with the rest of the crowd as Meriana won an award for Young Rodders, a class for under 21 drivers. She also won an honorary award for a generation driver, being the daughter of a previous racer and preserving the Wilson name.

3:00 that afternoon, the cars drove out in a blaze of glory. They seemed to have perfected a strange routine leaving the show. Until every award was announced they stayed and when the band finally began to play again, the drivers meandered back to their cars, subconsciously following an unspoken order.

The Big Ones stayed, directing leaving cars through four points of exit, each in a compass's direction. Then it was the sore losers who grumbled and were angry at losing who left in a huff, ignoring the crowd with windows up and their radios down. Last place or small category winners took the streets next, laughing off the jokes, playing music and calling out people. They stopped to give notice to kids and make explosive exits.

After them were casual classic car owners who weren't integral to the community, but were involved enough to know about the big shows. They revved up engines and played loud music. They tried to look cool by trying too hard. They were awkward shouting out to people by their full name and waving for attention. First place winners drove off next with their crews and clubs, showing off exactly why they won in the big name categories or why they won three or four awards. They were cocky and loud, purposely pissing off the directors and sometimes circling back to leave again with a roar.

Then true in the blood car owners who thrived on these events drove out, nodding gracefully to the crowd and bantering with other drivers. They played signature songs or did burnouts on their way to remind everyone who they were. Lastly the vendors and sponsors left following the Big Ines on their way out.

The only evidence of the car show happening was the faint thrum of engines and the disappearing laughter of the people.

**Author's Note:**

**So it was long but good right? BTW all the cars mentioned in the previous chapter and this one are all real cars and I suggest you look them up as well as the Indian and the Suzuki mentioned in this chapter! Oh and bonus for you! Who is Jason? If anyone can tell me I'll purposely stick in their favorite character and give them a cool ride! We're about halfway through! What do you think is going to happen?**


End file.
